


In a Darkened Room

by kradam_12321 (kay_elizabeth_roxx)



Series: Along This Dark and (Not-So) Lonely Road [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_elizabeth_roxx/pseuds/kradam_12321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris spends one last night with his father's slave, Adam, joining him in the middle of the night. Kris is leaving his parent's house at last, but one catastrophic event could serve to change his life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Darkened Room

_"...and the innocence of a child  
is bought and sold,  
in the name of the damned  
the rage of the angels left silent and cold..."_

 _~_

 __

Kris tossed and turned uncomfortably in his bed, groaning in frustration. Stacked boxes loomed around him like brooding sentinels, a testament to his immanent departure. The walls were far too empty, long stretches of dark, empty paneling. This didn't feel like his room anymore; this was his last night sleeping in this house, and he felt like a guest at an anonymous hotel.

  
 

Graduation earlier that week had very nearly blindsided him. Regardless, he still had the impression of simply floating along, severed from the regular flow of time. His new apartment was on the other side of town; far enough away that driving in every few nights to visit would be a nuisance. But Kris knew he would do it.

  
 

He had made some joking remark to his parents about getting homesick, but his returning wouldn't be for their benefit. That was only a shallow pretext; a facade concealing his true motivation, which had to be locked away much deeper.

  
 

Earlier in the day, Kris had gone about packing his things, filling up the multitude of cardboard boxes that now littered the floor. His father had ordered Adam to assist him, and he had done so without a word, those ice-blue eyes closed off in a way that made Kris want to dig his fingernails into his palms.

  
 

He _hated_ that look—it screamed of carefully-crafted neutrality, concealing a sharp edge of accusation. Kris didn't need a great deal of wisdom to piece together what that look meant—to Adam, this was simply another abandonment, another goodbye to harden his protective shell. It clearly conveyed the message that Adam expected nothing else from him.

  
 

Dark hair and soft fingertips flitted behind his determinedly closed eyelids, and he rolled over with a groan of annoyance, cracking them open. The darkness pressed in against him, oppressive, and suddenly he was slipping out of bed, padding softly across the room and out into the hallway.

  
 

He slipped silently around the corner, feet leading him instinctively to the little bedroom tucked away in the corner of the house. He only hesitated in front of the door, shadows falling thickly across the door. He knew Adam wouldn't want to see him, but the image of those cold eyes was stuck in his mind like a shard of glass.

  
 

Kris twisted the doorknob and slowly slipped inside, the door creaking behind him. Thin strips of moonlight were filtering in through the window, spilling across the white bedsheets. Adam was tangled in the blankets, but his eyes were wide open, coolly surveying Kris as he shut the door again behind him.

  
 

Kris blushed, but moved to the bed anyway, perching on the edge. Adam didn't make any move to shift away, and Kris bit his lip, suddenly unsure. He'd never come to him like this before, and he was afraid to touch, afraid of what he might see in Adam's gaze.

  
 

The mattress shifted slightly as Kris lay down beside him, his fingers twisting uncertainly around the corner of the sheet. He bit his lip, eyes dropping before quickly raising again.

  
 

“Adam,” he murmured, almost a plea, fingertip doodling a nonsensical pattern across Adam's still hand. Adam just stared at him for a long minute, his eyes shadowed, before rolling over on top of him and trapping him against the mattress.

  
 

His mouth stifled Kris' gasp of surprise, kissing him breathless as he held down his wrists. Kris arched up against him, flexing against Adam's grip, tense and panting. Adam relented, but only to tug down Kris' pajama pants, kicking them away to be lost in the tangle of blankets.

  
 

Adam was bare just as quickly, pressing Kris' thighs apart, hands forceful against the soft flesh of his inner thighs. Preparing him was a rushed, slick affair, and then Adam was burying himself into Kris, Kris' legs wrapping tightly about Adam's waist. He was thick and hot, rough with too-little lube, and Kris bucked into it, almost frightened by the intensity.

  
 

Adam held Kris down and made rough love to him, grasping at his hips as if he might crumble beneath him. Kris scrabbled at Adam's biceps, very nearly breaking under the pressure of it, biting down on his own knuckles to choke back the noises that threatened to bubble up.

  
 

Kris lost all sense of time as he writhed under Adam, burying his face into his shoulder and just holding on. It could have gone on for a minute or an hour; Kris had no idea. He felt Adam grasp the base of his cock every so often, bringing himself back again and again from orgasm. In turn, his brutal lovemaking kept Kris teetering on the very edge of his endurance, denying him the release his flesh was screaming for.

  
 

Their bodies were slick with sweat by the time Adam finally faltered, spurting his seed deep inside of him. Kris nearly sobbed as he too climaxed without a single touch, milky ropes of come drenching Adam, glistening against his pale flesh.

  
 

Adam didn't linger inside of him as he usually did, Kris biting down on his lip at the quick withdrawal. Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, then, Adam breathing harshly against his hair as he held him close for a moment.

  
 

Kris clutched at his body and kissed his face, seeking the soft caress of those full lips, but Adam only turned away from him, the strong slope of his shoulders highlighted in the shallow, silver moonlight.

  
 

“Adam....” Kris whispered, something knotting in his throat as Adam pulled away from his touch. “Adam. Please....”

  
 

“Just.... Just go, okay?” Adam said, the words barely audible, and Kris slowly withdrew from the bed, quickly redressing. Their few minutes together had already expired, but Kris lingered regardless, glancing once more at the still figure under the blankets.

  
 

They paid each other one final courtesy, without a word—Kris' whispered “I love you” went unheard, while Adam's glistening eyes went unnoticed.

  
 

~

  
 

Kris leaned against the door of his Lexus, gazing up at the house he'd always called home. This was his last trip; only a meager stack of boxes remained. Soon, the room would be filled again with his parent's extra things, perhaps even becoming a storage space, filled with nothing but dusty books and trinkets. There would be nothing left for him here.

  
 

He looked away from the house and bit down on his lip, eyebrows crinkling. The smallest of details flitted through his mind—the subtle texture of Adam's lips, the way his shoulders had stiffened as he turned away. For God's sake, his thighs still ached from where they had been wrapped around Adam's waist. His presence was more than a shallow imprint—his touch wouldn't fade with the passage of time.

  
 

Something knotted in Kris' throat at the thought, and he swallowed convulsively, slamming the car door shut. Now wasn't the time. He would come back every day if that's what it took to be with him, to feel those long arms embrace him as a lover once again.

  
 

He headed up the steps to the front door, pulling it shut behind him. The TV was blaring in the living room, and he paused, eyebrows wrinkling. He had the immediate impression that something was wrong—small, whimpering gasps were filtering in from the kitchen, complemented by what sounded like a string of low curses.

  
 

He hurried into the room, something uneasy settling into the pit of his stomach, and the sight that greeted him nearly made him sick to his stomach. His father was standing by the stove, staring ashen-faced down at the figure partially concealed behind the large island. A deep crimson stain was dripping down the front of the stove, more pooling on the hardwood.

  
 

“Oh my god,” Kris said, running over and shoving his father out of the way. He almost slipped on the slick floor, bracing his hand on the counter top and coming face to face with Adam, who was trembling as he attempted to push himself up onto his knees. His front was smeared with blood, blood that was spurting out from his arm at an alarming rate.

  
 

“What the hell did you _do?”_ Kris shouted, rounding on his father, who raised both of his hands in defense.

  
 

“He fell and cut himself on the edge of the stove just now,” he replied, lips thin, and Kris spun away in disgust, dropping to his knees beside Adam. He was terrifyingly pale already, his hands scrabbling ineffectively at the side of the island as he collapsed.

  
 

“Hand me the fucking phone!” Kris demanded, grabbing the nearest dishtowel and wrapping it tightly above the wound, panicked tears pricking at his eyes. It wasn't _working;_ the cloth was soaked almost as soon as he applied it.

  
 

Neil made no move to help him, eyes darting and uneasy, and Kris made a wordless noise of fury, digging his cellphone out of his pocket and dialing it with trembling fingers. He stumbled over his words as he tried to explain the situation, automatically hating the calm, cool voice on the other end of the line. She needed to _listen;_ she needed to understand how much fucking blood there was.

  
 

It seemed to Kris that a century had passed before she assured him that an ambulance was on its way, and he tossed the phone carelessly onto the counter once she did, turning back to Adam. His breaths were shallow and labored, his glazed eyes barely held open. His face was a pasty shade of white, and Kris helplessly rocked back onto his heels, biting his knuckles. He was afraid to touch him, but took his hand when it grasped weakly at his leg.

  
 

Rage at his father bubbled up in his chest, but all he could do was sit and stare down at the man below him, dumb. He had left him in the middle of the night with barely a word.

  
 

Sirens screeched down the street, piercing the still afternoon air.

  
 

~

  
 

Kris sat with his head in his hands, fingers clenching as he resisted the urge to pace. Something was twisting sickly in the pit of his stomach—he already hated this waiting room. The fake plants and blue-painted walls all screamed of artificial comfort and security, carefully cultivated by the designers. It didn't mean anything, not when the love of his life had nearly bled out on his father's floor.

  
 

His father stood a few feet away, face expressionless. Once the paramedics had taken Adam, Kris had run to his car and left, not caring in the least if his father followed. He had—probably to make sure his _investment_ survived.

  
 

Kris had stopped a nurse as soon as he had gotten inside the building, asking for his condition. After a quick call, she had looked at him and told him, with professional, sympathetic eyes, that his prognosis was still unclear.

  
 

Kris abruptly stood from his chair, heading down the nearest hallway. He walked blindly on through labyrinthine hallways, eventually ending up in a dead-end hallway. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, barely registering the sound of footsteps following him.

  
 

“Why are you so worked up?” his father asked, and Kris opened his eyes, giving an incredulous laugh.

  
 

“Why am I _worked up_?” he repeated, turning to face him. “Maybe because you just let a man very nearly die on your kitchen floor?”

  
 

He paused, voice biting. “How could you _do_ that to someone? What in the world did he do to deserve that?”

  
 

“I told you,” Neil responded, “I didn't cut him. He fell and slashed his arm open against the corner of the stove. You can go home and look if you don't believe me; there's blood all over it.”

  
 

“I don't _give_ a fuck,” Kris said, voice laced with uncharacteristic anger. “I'm not an idiot; I know you were beating him. There are marks on him from your belt buckle. You probably even pushed him into that stove, didn't you?”

  
 

“It's none of your business, frankly,” Neil replied, face creasing with anger. “He forgot his place, as he always does.”

  
 

“And you think that means—!” Kris started to shout, before pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closing. A feeling of deathly calm settled over him in that moment, and he raised his face, meeting his father's gaze with unwavering eyes.

  
 

“I swear to God; I'll have you charged for abuse,” he promised, voice low and level, “unless you get me his emancipation papers within a week. And don't you dare tell me you don't have the money, because you _do._ ”

  
 

“What.... Who the hell do you think you're talking to, Kris?” Neil said, laughing once in completely shock. “I'm your _father—_ I paid for you to go to law school! Those charges would get you nowhere.”

  
 

“I don't care,” Kris coldly replied. “If I'm remembering correctly, you're most important client is anti-slavery, is he not? Just think what a court case for abuse would do to your company's reputation. Especially leveled against the C.E.O.”

  
 

“Why the hell are you doing this?” Neil asked, his eyes narrowing. “It has nothing to do with you—he's just a fucking _slave!_ ”

  
 

“No, he's not just a slave!” Kris replied, voice cracking. “He's also happens to be the man I'm in love with, all right? Is that what you wanted to hear from me?”

  
 

He paused, watching his father's abashed face, alien to him. “And _frankly,_ I don't care in the least how you feel about it. I stand by what I said.”

  
 

“Fine,” his father spat, lip curling. “You'll get the goddamned papers. You can _have_ the bastard.”

  
 

“Good,” Kris replied, clipped, shoving past him and heading back towards the waiting room. His head was throbbing, a pulsing beat pounding against the back of his eyes. He was far too angry and worried to be happy about what had just happened.

  
 

His father entered the room again a few minutes later, just in time to be intercepted by a nurse. Kris jumped to his feet at the sight and rushed over, just in time to catch what she was saying.

  
 

“He lost a lot of blood,” she explained, face solemn. “It was a very near miss; a major artery in his wrist was just barely clipped. The doctor has just finished stitching it up. You're the owner, yes? We administered an emergency blood transfusion—his medical records included a document, signed by you, allowing that, among other various emergency procedures.”

  
 

She paused. “We stabilized him, although he's still unconscious at this point. He should wake up soon, but will most likely be groggy and light-headed. He'll need to remain here overnight.”

  
 

Neil silently nodded, and she looked up at him a little uncertainly. “You can come back now and see him for a few minutes, if you like.”

  
 

“No, I think I'll be leaving now,” he replied, shortly, before turning on his heel and leaving. She looked to Kris then, and he nodded, mouth suddenly as dry as cotton.

  
 

She led him through the winding, white-walled hallways, eventually ushering him into a small, private room. The walls were the same generic blue as the waiting room, the only furniture a small padded chair resting next to a bulky white hospital bed.

  
 

Lying in that bed was a very pale and still Adam, his arms hooked up to various IVs. His face was faintly creased with discomfort, his forearm encased in heavy bandaging. They'd cleaned him up, at least, replacing his bloodied clothes with a loose hospital gown.

  
 

The nurse briefly checked the monitor, before slipping out to allow them their privacy. Kris was glad—moisture was burning in his eyes, a thick lump blocking his throat.

  
 

He settled into the chair next to the bed, gingerly taking Adam's good hand and looking up into his beautiful face. His dark hair was still a startling contrast to his complexion, but he was no longer that sickly shade of ashen gray.

  
 

“Hey there,” Kris murmured, feeling silly, but, surprisingly, Adam's hand tightened around his, his head turning slightly as his eyes cracked open.

  
 

Adam just looked at him for a long moment, before sighing and letting his eyes slip shut again, eyelashes quivering against his cheeks.

  
 

“Kris,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper, and Kris nodded, pressing his cheek to the back of his hand.

  
 

“Yeah,” he replied, holding Adam's hand close. Not even the clinically sterile smell of the hospital could overpower Adam's sweet scent, and he kissed his palm, breathing him in. “I'm here. It's okay now, all right?”

  
 

“I...knew I was going to be fine....” Adam slowly articulated, smiling ever-so-slightly, “as soon as you rushed into the room.”

  
 

Adam's words were accompanied by a weak squeeze of his fingers, and Kris replied in kind, savoring the warmth of him. There was so much to be discussed, but Kris only kissed his palm again and closed his eyes, tears slipping silently down his cheeks.

  
 

~

  
 

Adam was discharged the next day, and Kris went to pick him up, heading back into those hallways that didn't seem quite so dismal anymore. Adam met him in the hallway clad in the outfit Kris had brought him the day before, his ruined clothes bundled up in a bag slung over his shoulder. His color had returned after a good night's rest, and after a series of tests completed earlier in the day, he was pronounced good to go.

  
 

Kris wasn't sure if Adam remembered their short conversation the night before—he supposed he did, because he leaned down to give Kris a soft peck on the lips. His touch was still reserved however, and Kris realized, as they got into the car, that Adam still thought he was being left behind.

  
 

“Where are we going?” Adam asked, shooting him a questioning look as they pulled out of the parking lot.

  
 

“To my place,” Kris replied, and Adam settled back against the seat, looking vaguely confused as he picked idly at the edge of his bandage.

  
 

His apartment was tiny but comfortable, a rather meager pile of boxes stacked in one corner. He had returned home earlier in the day to retrieve the last of his stuff, when his father was off at work.

  
 

Adam sat down on Kris' worn, garage-sale sofa, dropping his bag onto the floor as Kris headed into the kitchen. The manila folder was still there, resting on the kitchen counter—Kris had had the irrational fear that, should he take his eyes off of it, it might disappear in a wisp of smoke.

  
 

He had given his father a week, but that folder, along with a ratty duffel bag containing all of Adam's things, had been waiting for him in his old bedroom. He hadn't opened it yet; it seemed such a very fragile thing to gaze upon, freedom.

  
 

The folder was thin between his fingers as he handed it to Adam, almost weightless. It held only a few sheets of paper—simple words that had already irrevocably altered the life of the man sitting in front of him.

  
 

Adam glanced up at him, eyes questioning. “What's this?”

  
 

Kris' tongue felt thick and heavy, incapable of speech. He gestured for him to open it, and Adam obeyed, flipping the folder open. His eyes quickly scanned the text, eyes widening as he got the gist of the document. Shock had etched itself into every plane of his young face.

  
 

“Oh my god....” he breathed, flipping the page over, his mouth opening as he saw the signature at the bottom. “Kris.... How did you....? Who paid for this?”

  
 

“It doesn't matter,” Kris gruffly replied, clearing the knot in his throat and kneeling beside him. “It's done.”

  
 

“Yes—yes it does!” Adam insisted, hands fluttering shakily above the papers. “I—I didn't even work for it; I—“

  
 

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Kris interrupted, expression soft despite his disbelieving words, cupping Adam's face in his hands. “You've worked for years now, Adam—you've worked harder than any human being I've ever met.”

  
 

Adam's head dipped, his body trembling uncontrollably, and Kris let his face go, moving back a little. “You don't have to answer to anyone anymore.”

  
 

He paused, tripping over the words that had been playing circles in his head all day. “And I.... I was never going to leave you. I hated that our last night together in that house felt like a goodbye, because it wasn't. And Adam, I'd be both an idiot and a masochist if I didn't ask you to stay with me. But those papers say it all—you're free to go as you please now.”

  
 

Adam raised his face in disbelief at that last statement, cheeks streaked, for the first time in a long while, with tears. His face was absolutely incredulous, blue eyes stormier than Kris had ever seen them.

  
 

“You _idiot,_ ” Adam said, pulling him into his arms and holding him close, caressing his cheek with shaking fingers. “Why would I go anywhere else? Why in the _world_ would I go anywhere else?”

  
 

Adam silenced him with his mouth before Kris could reply, kissing him again and again. A smile was pressed against Kris' temple, followed by a familiar three words, hanging in the air as the folder between them was cast aside.


End file.
